


Recidivism

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: (technically) - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Canon Typical Weirdness, Character Study, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Lost Time, M/M, Magic, One Singular Worm, Orgasm Denial, Pet Names, Prison, Self Loathing, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: He serves his prison sentence.It could be worse.





	Recidivism

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't slept in over a day 
> 
> also! viren refers to aaravos as it for the first half of the fic before swapping to he in the second half. if that makes you uncomfortable dont force yourselves
> 
> not beta'd
> 
> now with [ this which is sort of a podfic ](https://photos.app.goo.gl/JEFiygjbaTYxQ3Tr7).

The irony of the situation isn't lost on him.  
  
Really, he's intimately aware of just how badly he fucked all of this up. Too impulsive, too angry, too power hungry, too quick to show his hand to those who obviously don't appreciate what he has to offer. Too trusting of mirrors and secrets and bugs.  
  
Still, he's manacled to the wall in the dungeon, and he's intimately aware of how funny this must be for everyone else. Gods, if Amaya's interpreter finds out, that's enough reason to just end it then and there.  
  
His bad leg aches from being forced to stand. No slack in the chains, hands right up against the wet river stones to keep him from casting. It makes sense. It's what he would have done. And still, his wrists chafe against the metal, and his clothes are already clinging to his back.  
  
There's a cot in the cell, but he doesn't imagine he'll receive the luxury of laying down any time soon. Or how he's going to eat. If they're going to feed him at all- they will. They will. They're good people, and they won't let him starve, even if it's him. Even if it's Viren, the Traitor.  
  
Viren the Servant.  
  
Viren the Idiot.  
  
A guard comes back and presses a water skin to his lips and Viren drinks. No point in pride now. It's just a matter of biding time until his children return and free him. Embarrassing too, but no sense in looking a gift horse in the mouth.  
  
“And food?” It comes out hoarse, from all the earlier yelling, if he has to guess.  
  
“I don't know, Lord Viren.” They bow their heads and slip out of the room like he's not chained to the wall and entirely at their mercy. Maybe they're still scared, maybe this one wasn't informed.  
  
The hours slip by, and Viren feels more and more like he's losing his mind staring at the moss patterns growing in the corners. His eyes droop shut a few times, but he doesn't allow himself the luxury of sleep. Not yet.  
  
He's going to be smart.  
  
He's going to be careful.  
  
Dinner is an agonized affair. They do let him out of the wall mounted manacles but before he even has a chance to rub his agonized wrists he has another pair of manacles slapped on. One guard brings a plate of food and the other knocks an arrow back and aims it just above Viren's ear and he- he behaves himself.  
  
They trade his bindings again, and he's back on the wall for another hour, they inform him.  
  
They chain him to the bed, limb to individual post. There's only a tiny bit of slack to them.  
  
The sheet intended to serve as his blanket is threadbare.  
  
He listens as best he can for anyone to pass in the hallway. He doesn't last very long, the exhaustion of the day finally, finally catching up to him. It's uncomfortable, but he's so tired his body doesn't seem to care about the water dripping down on his boots.  
  
He's awoken at what must be an hour truly abandoned by the gods by the distinctly unpleasant sensation of a caterpillar crawling out of his ear, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint to keep from screaming.  
  
“This is... an unfortunate situation you find yourself in.” The elf's voice whispers while the bug scurries to settle between his eyes for a moment, almost scanning the room before returning to the shell of his ear.  
  
“I've noticed it, yes.” He hisses back, lest anyone hear- and think what?  
  
That Lord Viren has lost every single ounce of his mind, presumably.  
  
“Do not worry.” Aaravos' voice is irritatingly calm, considering. “You will not rot here.”  
  
“My-” Viren bites his tongue for the first time in week. Can it read his mind? He doesn't know and doesn't want to give it an opportunity to find out. Still, better keep Claudia and Soren out of it, if he can help it. “My contingency plans will arrive, at some point.”  
  
“That's clever. Thinking ahead.” He hasn't known it very long, but he can imagine the elf's features quirk up into that infuriating grin. “Still, you were overrun. I should have been doing as you have and for that, I do apologize.”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
“I know all too well what it is like to be locked away.”  
  
Yes, Viren supposed. It does.  
  
“Oh well, do forgive me. Step into the study I so clearly have, rest by the fire for a moment.”  
  
The elf laughs.  
  
It must be the exhaustion of the day, of the week, surely, that that laugh sounds as sweet as it does in his ear.  
  
“Forgive me.” It whispers. “My walls are a prison just- not one as literal as yours.”  
  
And for a moment, from the corner of his eye, he swears he sees the shining, sparkling skin of the elf as it drags a hand along the stone. It's gone as fast as it appeared- if it was ever there, to begin with. The bug chitters a tiny little sound that makes Viren recoil in disgust.  
  
“Do you want anything else?”  
  
“Do I want anything?” Aaravos pauses. “I can think of a great many things I want, but none so much as to see my new friend freed from his shackles.”  
  
“And could you _do_ anything about that?”  
  
“I will have to consult texts but of course, like you said, contingency plans.”  
  
Viren closes his eyes when he feels the worm slip back into his ear. As if that would make the sensation any less revolting.  
  
He doesn't get any sleep that night. 

  
…

  
  
The next two days are an incoherent blur.  
  
Lack of decent sleep, decent food, sunlight and exorcise are starting to make themselves uncomfortably know, and Viren is starting to suspect that's what the Council is hoping for. Drive him as mad as he needs to be to have him thrown into exile without him putting up any fight. Without him telling the others of the threats at the borders.  
  
Standing all day makes his knee feel agonizing and his arms are starting to hurt in a way he really doesn't like.  
  
The worm crawls out of his ear, and his entire body shivers again.  
  
“Tell me a story.” Aaravos whispers.  
  
He's so overcome with blind rage in that moment that he doesn't even stop to think and yells.  
  
“What? Nothing better to do than laugh at the poor stupid human?”  
  
If the guards outside hear him, there's no reaction. None that he can hear at least.  
  
“What? No. Your mind must be starting to waste away. Tell me something interesting.”  
  
“Tell me of locks instead.” Viren hisses. “And how to break out of them with nothing.”  
  
“I'm still looking.” It tells him. It placates him. “Not many locks in Xadia.”  
  
“Just magic mirrors.” It's dripping malice, and Aaravos must hear it because there's another laugh- chuckle maybe. Who knows.  
  
“Certainly harder to get out of.”  
  
“What are you?”  
  
“A mage. Just like you.” Its voice is soft in his ear. Some perversion of comfort. “Just like you.” It repeats again, and from the corner of Viren's eye, he sees it- them- its arms. Both of them tracing lines along the river stone.  
  
“No- what kind of elf are you?”  
  
“Never seen one like me in your conquests?” Viren doesn't answer. They've not been anything resembling conquests. Just narrow escapes with varying degrees of payout. “A Startouch elf.”  
  
He tries to commit it to memory but somehow even just hearing about it makes the words go a little fuzzy at the edges. Aaravos' hands are gone when he next bothers to look at where they were.  
  
“And that's rare?” He fishes, even if he's sure, it's going to fizzle out in the hour.  
  
“Very.”  
  
“And those stars on your skin those are-”  
  
“Distant Worlds. Distant Suns. Maps.” It's said with something that could be affection. “All real.”  
  
There's a flash of an image in his mind, it can't last for more than a second, but it's there, and it's real- Aaravos' skin. Its body- Tall and lean and without the cloak it wears. Stars without number on every inch of it. Blues and whites and even a few reds on the arches of its feet. Even its horns seem to have some light gleaming in them.  
  
Viren swallows despite himself.  
  
“Fascinating.” He says in what he hopes is dry and uninterested and not at all the voice of someone enraptured by another person's beauty. An elf, not a person.  
  
“Hm.” He almost feels Aaravos' lips on his ear. “Tell me a story.”  
  
Again with this.  
  
“Any particular story you'd like to-”  
  
“Something you have to recall. So your mind has something to do while I work.”  
  
Viren has half a mind to fight him-it on it, more then half a mind- but he doesn't. He whispers the story of Harrow's marriage to the worm. He's always had trouble recalling any details outside of how much whiskey he drank and how Harrow had looked under the flowered arches. It's impersonal enough- and a matter of public record. He can feign disinterest.

He can try to.  
  
Gives him something he can close his eyes and focus on and almost pretend like he's at his best friends side, watching him practice his wedding vows in a mirror.  
  
“What a shame,” The worm twists around on the shell of his ear. “That you grew apart from him.”  
  
“I suppose.” He'd done his mourning already.  
  
No need to rehash it now in front of a stranger.  
  
The door rattles as someone tries to unlock it and the worm scuttles back into his ear.  
  
“And still.” Its voice reverberates inside of his skull in a way that makes Viren cough up most of the water he's given. 

  
…

  
  
He loses track of time.  
  
He doesn't mean to- but then the days start slipping away. He's not sure how long he's been here. It's the same routine of standing up, drinking, eating, lying down. He knows in theory, if he counts the amount of times he's been laid down, that would be all of the nights he's been in prison. He knows that, but he can't count them. Hours of nothing but the dark wetness of his cell is rotting his brain.  
  
Aaravos insists on more stories.  
  
Viren is starting to run out of stories that don't matter.  
  
“When are your contingency plans going to rescue you?” Us, it means. Specifically.  
  
“I don't know.” He barks out.  
  
He hopes they're all right. He really does.  
  
He's on the cot, on his back trying to sleep, when the worm scuttles out again. He really thought he'd be over the sensation by, but evidently, it's just as unpleasant every single time.  
  
“I've a gift for you.”  
  
Viren is halfway through opening his mouth and complaining when Aaravos appears in the cell.  
  
Viren snaps his jaw shut.  
  
“How are you-”  
  
“I'm not,” Aaravos says. “Not in any way that matters, I suppose. Just a very intricate illusion.”  
  
“Moon magic?”  
  
“Something like it.” The stars on its skin shine just as brightly as he remembers them too. Radiant. Resplendent. No sense in denying how gorgeous the elf's skin is. “Incorporeal. For the most part.”    
  
“So worthless?”  
  
“I wouldn't say worthless.” Aaravos crosses the tiny distance between them and places a very solid, very real and warm and soft hand on Viren's cheek. “Something to keep your mind occupied at the very least.”  
  
“I would so much rather you unchain me.” He says. Aaravos' hand is the warmest thing he's been in contact with for the better part of- however many days.  
  
“Alas.” Aaravos humors him, and they both watch a hand pass through metal. “Partially worthless after all.”  
  
“Then why can you touch me?”  
  
“I had your blood on hand.” Again, that all too familiar rage boils under the surface. Of course. He's not surprised in the slightest that an elf would just Take what clearly doesn't belong to it. “Don't make that face. You have mine as well.”  
  
Aaravos runs a hand along the wall, getting up and circling the whole room before returning to Viren's side. He-it kneels down beside him, resting its hand on Viren's wrist. Aaravos' fingers are warm and soft, oddly soft, and sparkle even in the darkness of the room. He- It rubs his sore wrists, and Viren closes his eyes.  
  
“You've done magic to sit vigil at my bedside?”  
  
“If that's all you want of me,” Aaravos says. “Then that is all that I will do.”  
  
“I don't trust you to do anything else.”  
  
Viren doesn't have to open his eyes to see the smirk on Aaravos' face.  
  
“Then that is all that I will do.” 

  
…

  
  
The next day, Aaravos comes to him while he is still standing, flush against the wall.  
  
“You're in pain.”  
  
“Could a guard see you?”  
  
“I'm- unsure, actually. We'll be careful. And still, you're in pain.” A loose hand curled in the direction of his knee.  
  
“What of it?” There's really no room for posturing when Aaravos kneels by his side. They look at each other and Viren is the first to turn his head away in embarrassment. He feels those same warm hands press against his knee and for a second he expects the familiar glow of magic to fill the room, but Aaravos settles on massaging the joint.  
  
There's a moment of confusion, a memory surfacing that he didn't expect of Harrow doing the same for him years ago.  
  
“Better?” For a second he can't tell who's asking before Aaravos' eyes come into focus. Pretty dark eyes. Viren wishes that his cohort was less arrestingly beautiful, but then he- it-  fuck- is probably a murderer. At least a murderer. A murderer with very nice hands that rub his knee in a way that makes the pain less noticeable.  
  
“Yes.” It comes out as an embarrassing breathy whisper and Viren is left to feel the blood rush to his face when the elf smiles.  
  
“Good.” Aaravos brushes the cloak he (let it be a he, the embarrassment diminishes so much when it is a he, there's so much less shame in just another he) wears down smoothly.  
  
The door clicks, and in an instant, the elf is gone, and Viren is alone to receive strange looks from the guards for the heat in his face. 

  
…

  
  
Claudia's shadow slips through the door of his cell, and he's never been prouder then he is in that moment.  
  
She steps back away from him when she sees him, and he's forgotten his skin and his veins and the edges of his eyes for a moment. He explains what went wrong- tries to at least- and she nods along.  
  
“We're still days from the castle but-” She bites her lip and looks at the ground.  
  
“It's alright- Claudia I'm fine. I can wait. Just- you know how to get out of chains. I taught you. Do that for-” His cell door rattles with the jingle of keys and Claudia dissolves with a short nod.  
  
The guard with the lantern swings the light wide and after checking any conceivable hiding place gives Viren a sharp look, and the door closes.  
  
“Contingency plan?” Aaravos whispers in his ear. He hisses his agreement, unhappy to be found out- but then maybe he wasn't yet. “So talented for one so young.”  
  
“I trained her.” As if that's an explanation for her natural talent, her drive, her own hunger.  
  
“Of course.” Aaravos nods. “Well, you've only a few more days to luxuriate on this temporary vacation.”  
  
“Is that what I've been doing?”  
  
Aaravos just laughs.  
  
When the guards move him to the bed later, Claudia's shadow returns and for a few seconds hisses out the incantation. He sits up on his own volition for the first time in days and rubs his wrists.  
  
“Dad-”  
  
“Go- Go. Do this again tomorrow night, but for now, go. I'm fine.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Clau- Go.” He says, and the darkness in the room diminishes. He leans back on the wall and stares straight ahead for a moment before Aaravos appears at his side.  
  
“So skilled.” He coos in a way that must be condescending- at least until he realizes it's about his daughter, not at all about him. “Truly.” He shifts to stare at the shackles. “This is elegant.”  
  
Viren stares anywhere else.  
  
There's a moment of realization that takes him by surprise, and he stand with it, walks the room. Stretches his arms. He could be free, right now. The moss growing the corners could be ground and made corrosive, and he could strangle the guards outside or- or something. Make it out. Find his staff and run.  
  
But then proving he's not a traitor would be so much harder.  
  
He sighs slowly, trying to keep himself in check and it's always so much harder when he has to control himself and not control someone else.  
  
“I'm staying.” He says, to himself more than anything.  
  
“A wise decision.” Aaravos steps behind him, to close to his ear again. “Considering the circumstances.”  
  
“Waiting for-”  
  
“Your contingency plans.” Aaravos finishes for him. “I'm certain you'll find a way to pass the time.”  
  
It's purred out, and his face flushes again.  
  
As much as it can, considering the state of it.  
  
“Yes. Well.” He says and sits back down on the cot, stepping around the elf as nonchalantly as he can muster. “If you excuse me.”  
  
Aaravos looks confused for a second and then his face settles back into a grin- and gods is Viren tired of the grin.  
  
“Some alone time. I understand.”  
  
Viren doesn't even get the chance to defend himself before the illusion vanishes, and the worm disappears back in his ear.  
  
The implication makes him dizzy.

  
  
…

  
  
The manacles come undone with another click and Viren tells Claudia the same.  
  
Even if he just went back to sleep, there's comfort in being able to toss and turn at night.  
  
“Let me help your knee.” Aaravos kneels by his side again.  
  
“Alright.” He doesn't ask why there's the elf is being kind- instead just stretches out his bad leg and hisses through gritted teeth. His staff is more for magic than it ever has been for supporting himself but imagines by the time this is over that may become its primary function.  
  
“No, take these off. I'd like to try something if you'd let me.”  
  
“What-” It comes out a as one word, thank every single thing in the entire firmament for small mercies.  
  
“I want nothing but to help you.”  
  
For Viren to trust him.  
  
“Alright.” If only to get rid of the ache, he tells himself as he pulls his trousers down to his ankles. Just for the pain in his leg.  
  
Aaravos whispers an incantation, his hands move for a sigil, and his eyes shimmer iridescence. It's phenomenal casting- the technique alone is such an obvious sign of mastery- he's so enraptured by it he doesn't even notice the water dripping from the ceiling coiling around his knee.  
  
The ache is gone, replaced by warm pulsations as the water does- something to him.  
  
“There.” The elf's eyes are still glowing. “Better?”  
  
“Yes- Ocean magic?”  
  
“Something like that.” The water slips back to the wall, and Aaravos' eyes settle back to their usual darkness. The elf gets closer again, settling in the space between his legs and wrapping his hands around Viren's knee, kneading at the flesh there.    
  
It would be nice if Viren was still wearing pants, but at this point, he's partially certain Aaravos might be doing this on purpose.  
  
He's not new to games like this, obviously.  
  
For all of Harrow's posturing, Viren has spent time in his bed before. He knows the game well enough. He's just never been on the receiving end of it.  
  
“If not ocean magic then what?”  
  
“It is ocean magic,” Aaravos says. “For the most part. Casting where I'm not requires more.”  
  
He almost feels the elf's breath on his thigh, and certainly, he must be imagining it, at this point. Certainly, he must be. Viren reaches out, more out of curiosity than anything else to tug the hood of the cloak down. When the fabric goes both of them freeze- though Aaravos plays it off so much smoother than he does.  
  
Viren stares at the stars on his skin, glowing within him, making him look like a container for the cosmos instead of a living being. Maybe that's what they are. Startouch Elves. He wishes he had his study in this moment more than anything else.  
  
“Aaravos,” Viren says without thinking and clears his throat.  
  
“Yes?” The elf barely reacts, just a twitch of the ears.  
  
“How old are you?”  
  
“Elves live a long time.”  
  
“That's not an answer.”  
  
“I'm older then you are.”  
  
“Ah.” He nods.  
  
Aaravos stops petting his knee and stretches, rolling his shoulders and Viren has the perfect vantage point for his broad shoulders. And they are broad. Just as broad as-  
  
“It does feel better, yes?” And his voice-  
  
“Yes. Yes. You're a service onto yourself.”  
  
Aaravos laughs, turned on his knees to face him, face inches from his-  
  
Viren bitterly reminds himself that yes, elf, yes, enemy, yes, mage, dangerous, lethal even, he's already seen what he could do, feel what he could do, and Viren is certainly past the age where swooning like this was appropriate and-  
  
And he can tell himself a million more thing in the few seconds it takes Aaravos to settle a hand on his thigh.  
  
“Then let me serve you.” He says.  
  
“Yes-” As if it wasn't clear enough.  
  
It's been longer then he wants to admit- since the marriage at least. Never any interest in buying someone's company and never any interest in pulling Harrow towards him, even after her Majesty passed. They were both too busy with matters of state and matters of children.  
  
Aaravos pulls him out of his small clothes with a grace that can really only be described as excessive, but then his cock is in the elf's mouth, and really, he suddenly can't find anything to complain about.  
  
Well, he can't say he expected the graze of teeth, but even then it's not unwelcome. Aaravos gives him a few licks before swallowing him down, face almost up against his stomach in an instant, and that alone is dizzying beyond measure. The back of his throat is soft and warm and wet like the rest of his mouth, but it's the _back_ of his throat. Untouched skin, he imagines to himself.  
  
“Enjoying yourself?” His voice comes through clearly, and the bug chitters, moving around the shell of his ear slowly.  
  
Very much.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Aaravos' lips quirk up, and he starts moving his head, Viren's cock gliding against that velvet skin every time.  
  
“And you thought this illusion worthless.”  
  
“Yes, yes, c-clearly- I hadn't. Hadn't considered all of it's many-” His hands tangle in the elf's hair. “Many practical uses.”  
  
“Oh don't be like that.” His voice purrs again and feels the ghost sensation of hot breath on his neck. “Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to fuck an elf?” He feels phantom nudges- no more then solid air pushes at his swore wrists until his fingers let go of hair and grab onto his horns. “That's it.”  
  
“Are you getting- anything- out of this?” His hips jolt forward into that heat, and the illusion presses a hand down on his hips, clearly intending to keep him in place. Aaravos' fingers grip, tight enough to mark, tight enough to bruise and Viren groans despite himself.  
  
“The satisfaction of watching you come undone.” The illusion's nose presses up against his pubes and isn't that a pretty sight he wants to commit to memory. “You taste so good.” And then the lips quirk up again. “Your Grace.”  
  
His grip tightens on Aaravos' horns and in an instant he's comes with a groan, and when he finally opens his eyes, he's staring at Aaravos' come stained face, watches the obscene way it smears on the elf's lips. The way the elf drags his fingers through it and licks them clean.  
  
He's grateful to already be sitting on the cot- gods only know how quickly his knees would have given out.  
  
There's nothing but heat in his chest, in his face, blood rushing in every direction at once.  
  
“That was-” He whispers, maybe too quietly.  
  
“You're easy to please.” He says it like it's a statement of fact, no coy question, no coy smile to chase it. The illusion is clean in an instant, almost as if he had never been filthy in the first place. He tucks his hair behind his ears and pulls his hood back up. “Get your rest.”  
  
Viren really should get used to the conflicting feelings he has with elves, considering they're obviously not going to stop any time soon. 

  
…

  
  
The next night Claudia's shadow doesn't arrive, and Viren is reminded rather thoroughly of the unfortunate circumstances he finds himself in.  
  
The worm scuttles out of his ear and onto his face, between the eyes and Viren frowns as the illusion arrives to kneel by the side of the cot.  
  
“I watched it come out of your mouth.” He says with a sort of slow-growing horror- realization.  
  
“It's a friend.” The illusion reaches out, and with Aaravos fingers so close to his face he flinches. “The only one I've had until you.”  
  
“It came out of your mouth,” Viren says again, pointedly.  
  
“It kept it hidden.”  
  
“From Thunder?” He asks, knowing he's not going to get an answer back. “And what it just- just lived in your anatomy?”  
  
“Curious about my anatomy now?” The illusion straddles Viren's hips, legs passing through the cot like there isn't any way in the first place. “Or better yet, are you worried for my organs?”  
  
The monster starts rolling his hips and even if Viren's brain knows it's not real, the weight of him feels real. The between the elf's legs certainly feels real. Apparently, Viren is sentenced to the role of the inexperienced because he's certainly getting hard for Aaravos' attentions.  
  
“Are you useful to me? Full of holes?”  
  
“That's an assumption, certainly. I was going to ask if you plan on dissecting me. Using me for spells.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Aaravos makes a pleased sound and grinds down on Viren's slowly hardening cock.  
  
“I wouldn't blame you.” He leans down, breathing in Viren's ear, liking a stripe of skin along his neck. “Think of all the uses.”  
  
His hands itch for his study.  
  
“You'd let me strip you for parts?”  
  
“Well. I'm not planning on using them forever.” His voice actually hitches for a second.  
  
“Are you-” Viren doesn't ask-can't bring himself to ask.  
  
“It has a name.” Aaravos keeps rolling his hips in just the right way- Viren can feel the outline of his cock right against the elf's cloak, pressing against his own erection. “Not that you'd be able to pronounce it.”  
  
Aaravos makes a sound that sounds like bugs chittering and cats rushing about, the crackle of a fire and the sound of light rain. The bug chirps in affirmation and Viren doesn't know what he's supposed to do with himself. What can he do with himself? Get off. Getting off is an option.  
  
There's a tight coil in his stomach that threatens to spring loose at any give moment, ruin his already filthy clothes even further.  
  
“Do you name all of your bugs?” He asks instead, the words come out clipped and nervous. His face feels like it's on fire.  
  
“Only the useful ones.”  
  
The heat between them makes Viren's blood boil and just as he's sure he's about to spill Aaravos is gone. The heat and the friction between them is gone too, and Viren is left gasping at the sudden emptiness.  
  
Still miserably hard.  
  
Leaving a rather large stain in his trousers.  
  
Fantastic. 

  
…

  
  
“We'll be home tomorrow.”  
  
“Yeah?” The chains snap off, and Claudia's shadow nods. “I'm proud of you. Both of you.”  
  
“Stay safe.” And she's gone.  
  
The chains click, and he rubs his wrists.  
  
“Almost free.” Aaravos hovers by his ear.  
  
“Almost.”  
  
“Will your contingency plans have moral objections?”  
  
“Is the plan to mow down every guard?” He asks maybe a little louder then he needs to. Aaravos shrugs, ears twitching lightly.  
  
“Regardless.” The elf says, and tugs at the broach on his robe. “A cause for celebration certainly.”  
  
It falls to the floor and fizzles out of reality- or at least his current reality. Just like that flash of an image Aaravos gave him all of those days ago. Viren pays attention to the stars, the constellations, the celestial bodies and definitely not at the space between the elf's legs. The stars shine brightly, a night sky unhindered by any light that may be in either of their prisons. He trails patterns he finds, clusters over his body. The red dots at his arches.  
  
(The _very_ nice space between his legs.)  
  
“Certainly.”  
  
It's not as frantic as he was with Harrow, tearing each others clothes off and rushing to feel each other. He has more than enough time to place his hands on the illusion and run his fingers over perfectly unmarred skin. He's new, somehow. If he was telling the truth about his age that's even more impressive.  
  
Why wouldn't he be?  
  
“Lie down.” He says, and Viren does. One more night in the uncomfortable cot, one more night in a dank jail cell, one more night in this castle filled with nothing but soured memories. “Your knee alright?” Viren nods with a fervor. “Get your clothes off then.”  
  
And the illusion settles for kissing his neck. When that proves to be too distracting, Viren supposed Aaravos does what any sensible adult would do and pushes his fingers into Viren's mouth.  
  
Yes, of course.  
  
His fingers worry the buttons on his shirt until his coat is off and the layer below it is shoved to the floor. He fumbles with his trousers while Aaravos runs fingers along his teeth, at his cheeks and finally settling on his tongue.  
  
There's no objection on position in his mind. He licks Aaravos' fingers, and as soon as his small clothes are down to his ankles, the elf takes Viren's cock in hand, saliva-slick and gets him off. Again the same smooth motion- Viren can't help but stare at Aaravos' shoulder of all things. There's something- he's not sure if it's the illusion or if the elf is that graceful. Or if all elves are this graceful.  
  
The other hand still in his mouth taps against his tongue- a weird feeling- and Viren goes back to sucking on his fingers.  
  
“Satisfaction of – of- watching me come undone again?” He asks when the hand is removed, and Aaravos runs his thumb over Viren in a way that makes his toes curl. Aaravos presses in and there's the guilt back again- that Viren would open this easily for the enemy-  but then Aaravos is helping him.  
  
Obviously.  
  
He's helping him with two fingers already, so.  
  
Maybe the place for moral hang-ups can be outside of the jail cell he's currently in.  
  
Aaravos curls his fingers with the practiced experience of someone who has probably definitely fucked a human man more than once before. Unless of course elf anatomy is more similar then he originally thought.  
  
His spine arches and he shakes his head in some misguided attempt to communicate his age-  
  
“I'm going to-”  
  
“Maybe I want you to.”  
  
And again, his voice is right there, he can feel breath on his ear, and that's enough to send him over the edge.  
  
Aaravos leans back as best he can, dirty fingers smearing Viren's thighs with his come.  
  
He catches his breath slowly, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
“That was-”  
  
There's a hand around his cock again, the elf's fingers rubbing at the head, sending sparks up his spine.  
  
“Again?”  
  
Viren doesn't have to look at him to see the smile on his face.  
  
"Yes." It comes out whispered, raspy.  
  
"What ever his Grace commands."

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> .[ talk at me here](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/).


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